


Beyond The Lights

by Mindlmatter



Category: Jhené Aiko - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Real Events, Love, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Short & Sweet, hopeless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 23:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20162059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mindlmatter/pseuds/Mindlmatter
Summary: Jhené tried to run from a mentally & physically abusive relationship that continued to bruise her. Each time she ran she was stolen right back by his deceptions. In her story there wasn't a knight in shining armor to rescue her. Fighting her demons alone, no one to help, and no one to care. She fought against this for most of her life. It becomes hard trying to build yourself up again, again, and again. She felt weak, and lonely knowing no one would understand her if she admitted the abuse. The relationship took over her career, moreover her life. But deep in her mind, and in her soul, she forever hopes theres happiness beyond the lights, beyond the sun and beyond the skies.





	Beyond The Lights

_Jhené Efuru Aiko August 2012_

I looked at the four walls that were plain white. I’ve been trapped in this prison for 8 years for killing my ex-husband. I was institutionalized in a mental health facility getting treatment. I was told I was crazy by most who lived here, and my mental state was out of this world but I’m not crazy. They would never understand why I committed the crime. It was out of defense, and out of such pain I wish I’d never felt ever in my life. Marquis painted me to be weak, he painted me to be vulnerable, and to never have a voice. I was these things until I’ve had enough of his adultery, his words, his fist, his presence. I thought he was the one, I thought he was worth it. I was so weak then, I trusted him, and gave him my all but he took it and burned it. He took me for granted. Back then I had no one but him to cry on, to tell all my fears to. It was when I first moved to California from NY. My family was back in NY, while I was here in Cali chasing my dreams, to be a music artist. I became depressed, around that time especially after I lost my brother and it was followed by a miscarriage. During these dark days I developed anxiety, and had BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). I believed in Marquis to help me conquer the darkness in this long trip to fame. But instead he ruined my dream, my goal. It was now a picture in the back of my mind that was framed, frozen in place. It’ll never become realistic anymore. I was webbed deeply into him. It was always him before anything else, and that’s something I majorly regret. Loving him is a regret, and trusting him, is a regret. Becoming close to him, and choosing him as my husband, is a regret. What makes matters worse is I wasn’t the only woman in his life he was playing. He was doing the same to another woman, but their story was way more perfect than ours. It was as if with her he was living a fairytale, while with me it was a nightmare. He gave her what we could’ve had, a child, a family, and happiness. Finding out such news killed me, it flipped a switch. It broke me, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted him to feel what I felt. It electrified something within. I wanted something, anything! I wanted redemption.. Walking into the quiet house I yelled to Marquis that I was home, but there was no reply. Putting the bags down onto the kitchen table I exited and walked up the spiral stairs. The closer I got to the top I began to hear a soft voice. Slowing down my pace I began to listen, it wasn’t just a voice it was a woman’s voice, and Marquis too. Scrunching my face up I began to walk slowly to the cracked open door, peeking through, my gut wasn’t lying. It was Marquis and another girl having sex in our bed.. This was all that went through my mind is the flashbacks of that tragedy. His treachery will harm me for life, it has destroyed my entire soul. Rushing back down the stairs quietly but quickly I jogged into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. At that moment my soul was no longer present, darkness came over me as I began to walk back upstairs to the bedroom where he committed adultery. Tears shed from my now dark eyes, “I can’t believe it.” Was all I could think. Hearing them exchange ‘I love you’ was the icing on the cake. Imagine hearing the person who you gave your everything to, who you were committed to saying those three words to another woman who he also gave a family to. Imagine being me, imagine being in this situation, it hurts. In two months I’ll be released early for good behavior and I honestly can’t wait to get back in the studio. Being in the studio is my medicine. But since I’m in here I’m no longer allowed to write. They say that a pencil is a weapon, and I understand that. I hate it here so much, but I’m bearing through it. Especially since I actually made a friend here. Her name is Christina. She’s been a positive influence on me since I met her. Well, when we met we disliked another because I stole, well didn’t steal, but I just so happened to be in the bathroom stall she claimed was hers. It seemed childish at first but then I understood it was the only stall that was functional. Most of the toilets in the bathroom we were required to use wasn’t the absolute best. But as time passed we settled our small differences and became best friends. She was the person who got me to talk in our small groups, and told me everything would be okay. I thank her for that, but I know she can’t help me fix everything. Like living as a ghost through the night, and having a broken heart through the day. Painting a faded smile on my face, and pretending I’m happy knowing I’m not. I’m still forever feeling like no one is listening to me. Even though I know she’s there for me, it’s an anxiety and PTSD thing. When I break outta here in a couple months hopefully the sun shines my way. Because I don’t know how much longer I can stand being in a plain room, smelling the same scented halls and going to the group talking about the same things over and over. When I’m released I know I’ll still be hurting, and still be searching, for someone to understand me better.


End file.
